No Time For Mistakes
by AliasCWN
Summary: Dietrich and another Captain disagree over the treatment of prisoners. And they can't seem to agree on how best to end the threat of the Rat Patrol.
**No Time For Mistakes**

By: AliasCWN

When the jeep flipped, Sargent Sam Troy found himself flying through the air. The bullets were still zipping past his head as he rolled to a stop. He tried to rise but a hard punch to his ribs knocked him back to the ground. A sharp, flaring pain spread up his chest until his breath caught in his throat. The bright desert sun winked out and he slumped to the sand unconscious.

Garbled voices penetrated the darkness and he finally managed to force his heavy eyelids open. The sun was still beating down on his face, occasionally blocked by a human body standing over him.

"I think he may be coming around Captain."

A strange voice speaking in heavily accented English seemed to come from a great distance, distorted to his ears. He struggled to make sense of the words. 'Who was coming around?' As his head cleared, he realized that they were most likely talking about him.

"See, he's awake. Now we can continue." The voice spoke again, clearer this time.

"I can't agree to this Captain." Another voice, also speaking English, answered the first. The second voice was somehow familiar but Troy was having trouble putting a name with it. When he switched to German it all fell into place and Troy suddenly remembered everything.

"English Captain, English." The first voice reprimanded Dietrich. "I don't think the men need to hear our little disagreement."

"It is more than a disagreement Captain. If you go through with this it is murder."

"Really Captain Dietrich. The man is a commando. Caught in the very act. Berlin has issued very specific orders covering just this situation." The second voice continued reasonably.

"This is not Berlin. And he is a soldier, a POW."

"A commando." The second voice clarified coldly. "And since I outrank you, we will proceed."

Troy looked up into the troubled face of Captain Dietrich.

"Believe me Captain, you don't want to do this. You have no idea what you are doing. We should just get him some medical attention and take him back to the base."

"If you don't want to be a part of this, that is up to you. I'm sure Berlin will be interested in your excuses for failing to follow their orders. Stay out of my way Captain. We are going to do this." The second officer walked away from Dietrich, his back ramrod straight. Troy looked to Dietrich with a question in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Sargent. This is not my idea and I am outranked." Dietrich stood above him and frowned.

"What's going on Captain?" Troy glanced around at the soldiers.

Dietrich didn't reply as two of the soldiers bent over Troy and pulled him to his feet. They shoved him roughly across the desert floor to a flat open spot.

The rattle and clatter of the idling halftrack motors was the only sound as the sargent was moved into position. His hands weren't tied as he had nowhere to run. He covered the wound in his side with one hand and forced himself to stand tall.

The Germans lined up in a straight line to face the injured prisoner. The other captain took his place off to the side.

Dietrich dropped his head and wandered back toward the halftracks. The sounds made by the motors helped drown out the pronouncement of sentence.

"As a commando Sargent, you have been sentenced to death by firing squad. For your attacks on the Afrika Korps and your destruction of both men and equipment. These orders come straight from Berlin." The captain cast a disdainful glance at Dietrich. "If there is anything you would like to say Sargent, now would be the time." He paused to allow Troy to speak.

Troy stared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. His face impassive, he watched the men before him shift nervously. A small smile raised the corners of his mouth at their unease. His team had them nervous and he found that he was proud of that fact. They didn't even have to be in sight to keep the average German looking over his shoulder. In fact, not seeing them, seemed to make the soldiers more nervous than the actual battles.

"Captain." Dietrich marched toward the other captain and the line of soldiers.

"What is it now Captain Dietrich?" The second captain rolled his eyes at the interruption.

"This man might have some very valuable information. It might be prudent to question him first. Berlin would be very happy if we could get him to talk."

The second captain rolled his eyes again at the suggestion. "If I'm not mistaken, you have tried to get information from him before Captain. You have never succeeded in getting him to talk." He glanced at Troy who remained defiant. "He doesn't appear to be in a sharing mood now either."

"Can you blame him? He's wounded and you are threatening to shoot him. That's hardly productive in getting someone to cooperate." Dietrich looked toward Troy, noticing the paleness of his face. "He is wounded now. Perhaps he will be more willing once his wounds have been treated."

"I seriously doubt it Captain. And I am not willing to take that chance. The longer we hold him the more time he has to escape. I am not about to give his friends a chance to rescue him. That has been your mistake time and again. You try to use them as bait and you end up losing all of them. This time, we will end their threat. He is the leader, if you cut off the head, the rest dies."

"Or we do." Dietrich mumbled under his breath. He had no doubt that Moffitt would take over command if Troy died. While a different type of leader, he would still be a formidable opponent and, if Troy were to be executed, a vengeful one.

His argument defeated, Dietrich again retreated to the halftracks. He welcomed the noisy machines as he turned away from the scene unfolding before him.

The captain took his position again, ready to give the command to fire. He took a moment to picture the acclaim he would garner when word of his success reached Berlin. That he had been the one to end the threat of the famous Rat Patrol would not go unrewarded by his superiors. Just the thought of the glory in his future made him smile.

Dietrich turned away at the smile on the other mans' face. He heard the order to get 'ready'.

The first shot sounded before the command was given to aim.

Dietrich spun in time to see the other captain crumple slowly to the ground. The red circle growing in the center of his chest was mute testimony to the marksmanship of the Americans. As the captains' body settled to the ground a single jeep jumped the top of the dune and attacked the German soldiers. The firing squad, caught standing out in the open, never stood a chance. The heavy 50 caliber slugs found their marks with deadly accuracy. The sharpshooter, still above them on the dunes, picked off anyone who tried to organize a defense. German soldiers ducked under the halftracks for cover, their gunners having been part of the firing squad.

Dietrich watched as the jeep swung around and started back toward the remainder of his troops. Sgt. Moffitt, on the 50, kicked up dust in front of the remaining soldiers, throwing sand into their faces. As they ducked for better cover the jeep swung sharply to the side and slowed next to Sgt. Troy.

Troy jumped into the passengers' seat and grabbed a hand hold on the dash. Moffitt kept up a steady stream of fire as the driver took them over the top of the dune and out of sight.

The desert suddenly seemed empty without the flurry of activity. The halftracks still idled behind him so he couldn't be sure that the jeep had gone. Its' quiet motor was impossible to hear over the clatter behind him. His men began to crawl from their hiding places and stand.

As he looked out over the carnage, he let the scene replay in his mind. There had been something wrong with the picture that was disturbing. It took him a minute to realize what had been different. The jeeps driver had worn a red hat, Troys' driver. Moffitts' driver always wore a steel helmet. He was sure that Moffitts' driver had been present during the initial attack. He tried to replay that attack in his mind. Something was off.

The first shot, the one that had killed the captain, replayed in his mind. It dawned on him that the mystery was not a mystery at all. Moffitts' driver had to be the teams sharp shooter. Satisfied that he had come to the correct conclusion, he began to once again pick up the pieces to return to his base.


End file.
